Chapter Text
Historically, Remus has struggled with winters; they are long and dark and cold, all of which wreak havoc on his mental and physical health. He had anticipated being so busy with the shop this year that he might somehow plough through the depression that trails him a little closer in the frostiest months.
This year, however. This year might have been his best winter ever, and now that its tendrils are shaking loose onto the beginnings of spring, Remus can feel his spirit stirring with the blossoms.
For the first time in forever, Remus feels like he belongs, a feeling which has carried him through some dark depressive episodes, some manic anxious panics, and his fortnightly stress-induced nightmares about the shop being set on fire. So, no, it hasn’t been without its challenges. But never before has he felt so supported, never before has he wanted to exist purely so he can get back to existing with his loved ones, instead of feeling like he’s orbiting them from an entirely separate plane.
It seems utterly insane how much of this is tied to one man. And yet, Remus now feels so entwined in this group that he knows, in his heart of hearts, that he belongs in his own right too.
As if on cue, a naked Sirius Black rolls towards him, cocooning himself in stolen blankets as he goes. “Morning,” he yawns into Remus’ shoulder, and then presses a kiss into fold of flesh there. “Missed you.”
Barely-awake Sirius may be Remus’ favourite iteration. He’s soft as fountain grasses and clings like a barnacle. “I’ve been here this whole time,” he murmurs back, kissing the crown of Sirius’ curls in return. He wonders if that will ever get old – then immediately hopes he will still be kissing that spot when they are old.
“Mm-hm.”
“Sirius?”
“Mph.”
“Padfoot?”
“’m list’ning.”
“We have to get up, love.”
“Nooo. Warm. Soft.” Sirius buries his face into Remus’ stomach and flops on top of him entirely, pinning him to the bed (a real bed, now, not just a mattress – at Sirius’ insistence: one of many arguments they have fought and made up over, healing the cracks with compassion and open-heartedness). Remus curls his arms around Sirius, heart swollen so large he’s surprised he can’t see it poking through his chest, and Sirius peeks up at him sleepily.
“Love you, Moony.” He dips his head, kissing down one of Remus’ silvery stretch marks on the side of his belly. The skin is sensitive, and the brush of warm lips sends a quiver through his whole body.
God, he’s never been loved like this before.
Sirius is travelling down the curve of Remus’ lower belly, and Remus scrambles his brain to get back on track before he loses all reason.
“Padfoot, I think –” He inhales sharply as Sirius lands a kiss high on his inner thigh. “I think the buds will be open today – I think-”
Sirius props his head on Remus’ belly. “Remus, my love, light of my life, sweet angel.”
(So much affection all the time, he just doesn’t know what to do with it all, nor with how overflowing his heart feels.)
“Yes?”
“Are you seriously telling me this when I’m trying to eat you out?”
Remus laughs. “They’re for you!”
“We’ve waited for the flowers for months; they can wait for me to give you the best head of your life.”
Remus takes a breath, because holy shit, Sirius sometimes comes out with things like that as if he isn’t remoulding Remus’ entire universe with such statements.
“We got a deal?” Sirius says, a knowing smirk on his perfect, plump lips.
“Deal.”
(Sirius is right. The flowers can wait.)
It’s nearly lunchtime by the time they are finally leaving the flat, though by that point, it was Sirius persuading Remus that “I’m not a young man anymore, love, I can’t have sex again for a bit.”
They make their way to the cemetery hand in hand – they have now become one of those couples that Remus used to roll his eyes at for their clinginess, but now he understands. He knows what it is to want to hold on – in every sense – to the person without whom life would be entirely reshaped.
(He’s so grateful he gets to know this.)
A few nights ago, as the bluebells were beginning to dangle in dusky cobalt, he and Sirius stole into the night once more to plant the final few parts of their Project. Remus has been cultivating the midnight irises and chocolate cosmos all winter, both of which flower too late in spring for them to work as part of the display otherwise, doing everything he can to coax then into bloom far earlier than they usually would. He had also taken cuttings from his own rosemary plants, allowing them to spread in their new homes.
It had been fucking freezing and utterly ridiculous – the two of them laughing the whole way through, sobering as they thought of how different and fragile things were the last time they had done this. When they had finished, Sirius had tugged Remus right onto his lap where he knelt on muddy ground, and they’d shared the most tender of kisses, not giving a shit that his mother’s grave was right there.
It had been a beautiful night, despite the cold and Remus’ aches and the nerves about how the rest of the town might receive this.
And yesterday, Remus had detoured past the gravestone and noted how close the daffodils were to cracking their cage.
Which means that today…
There are a few people there already – thankfully none of Sirius’ relatives yet – and they’re murmuring and taking photographs and just admiring.
Remus recognises Bill and the person who must be Bill’s mother judging by their red hair-freckles-blue-eyed combo. Bill grins when he sees Remus, raising his eyebrows meaningfully at the display. Remus only smiles back, and Bill’s grin widens. Remus only vaguely recognises the other people there – one of them has a fruit and veg stand in the market, and one is a teacher at the local comprehensive.
He doesn’t care much for them either way; it’s what they’re staring at that matters, because Sirius is standing there, eyes full of tears and hand on heart, and for one terrible moment, Remus can’t read him well enough to know which way this is landing.
Seven stripes of flowers line the main part of the patch around the grave: red anemones sitting squat and bold, orange tulips swaying in the breeze, yellow daffodils singing out hope and fresh starts, rosemary scenting the whole thing in a warm, rich aroma, bluebells bobbing beside them, and purple crocuses standing tall and proud. Slicing in from the left, there are strips of a white hellebores, delicate forget-me-nots, and pink hyacinths, forming an arrow framed by the irises and cosmos they’d planted a few nights ago.
It's the most glorious pride flag Remus has ever seen.
And yet, he’d trample it all down, rip up the petals, and throw herbicide down if he thought it was damaging Sirius.
Sirius, who is turning to him with shining eyes, and flinging his arms tight around Remus.
“Thank you,” he whispers into Remus’ ear, “thank you.” His voice breaks, and he buries his face in Remus’ neck.
(Remus thinks back to the way Sirius’ hands shook as he spoke about his mother hitting him upon discovering his own pride flag. How Regulus’ eyes dimmed as they talked of being misgendered and mocked. How Sirius is clinging to him now with quiet grief for the childhood he should have been granted, for the acceptance he was entitled to but never received.)
More people arrive, and Remus pays them no heed – this was never for other people, although it does warm his heart to see how many queer folks seem to be in the little crowd, smiling in soft wonder.
It’s only when a warm weight joins their embrace that Remus looks up to see Regulus, their eyes bright and their heart open.
“Remus. It’s fucking beautiful,” they say, pressing a kiss to his cheek, resting their head against Sirius’. Sirius shifts to let them in properly, and Remus catches sight of his face.
Tears clump Sirius’ lashes together, and truth be told, he’s kind of snotty, but he’s wearing the lightest, most gorgeous smile and it once again floors Remus that he gets to be this lucky. “I love you so fucking much,” he tells Remus, and it’s shaky and overwhelmed, but it’s also precious and passionate and all Remus has ever wanted.
“I love you too,” Remus tells him, a hand on Sirius’ cheek, and brushing a tear away with the pad of his thumb. “And you,” he tells Regulus, who says nothing but tilts their head into Remus’ chest and nods.
Across the churchyard, he can make out Lily and James, Harry atop James’ shoulders, hurrying towards them. They, too, slow as they draw near, James’ mouth dropping open and Lily’s hand flying to her mouth.
“Holy fucking shit. Sorry, God.”
“Oh, my loves.”
“Wow!!”
Lily joins their little hug trio, running a hand over Remus’ back in silent pride. James ducks in to join them, and Harry clings to Regulus’ legs, looking solemn.
“This is everything,” James says at last. “This is so much more beautiful than she deserved.”
“It’s not for her,” Regulus says firmly, “it’s for us. It’s for everyone like us.”
Sirius nods his agreement, pressing a kiss to Remus’ cheek. He’s stopped crying at last and is now just staring at the display with wide eyes – and at the by now crowd who have gathered to see it.
In truth, it’s beautiful, and perhaps too beautiful for someone so cruel and vindictive. But to know her son – both of her children – are out here, living unashamedly as themselves, despite everything she put them through?
That feels like the best victory of them all.
Remus tightens his arms around his love, his friends – his family.
He belongs, at last.